


The Fool's Ballad

by lithalos



Series: Caravanserai [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, One Shot, with a happy ending if you squint?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 15:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12135414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithalos/pseuds/lithalos
Summary: Finally, finally, something caught his attention. A chord, a series of chords that sounded right. He’d heard it, he listened.





	The Fool's Ballad

**Author's Note:**

> canon I barely even know her
> 
> A one-shot studying Akira in the universe of my other fic. I don't think it's necessary to have read it to understand this, but it will make some things make more sense so I do recommend reading it if you'd like.
> 
> (unbeta'd and I can see the light)

For the longest time, Akira had just been floating through life, absently trying to fill the insatiable void inside him. An emptiness he could never be rid of, unsettling and cold. He was simply detached, removed from reality as if he were nothing more than an observer. Everything moved around him but he...was still.

Burying himself in his schoolwork, hitting top of the class month after month after month didn't help. He could still feel the world slipping through his fingertips as he was left behind. Top of the class yet still nothing. He could still feel the emptiness threatening to engulf him, to destroy him.

Few people in his class talked to him, or even really knew he existed. For all they knew, he was a decoration in the room, fixed and immovable. A robot programmed for nothing other than class questions and pleasant greetings. An object with no purpose. Akira was fine with that.

He was always fine with that.

It was so easy to ignore, to say he was fine with it all, when he was busy. Busy with school, busy cleaning his obsessively clean room, busy, busy, _busy_.

And it would all came crashing down the moment he lay down, the second he’d give his mind a break from being _busy_. Emptiness was hard to ignore then, and impossible to avoid. It roared and was silent, all at once. It drowned him, it suffocated him, it tore at him until he could do little more than stare blankly at the blank ceiling above him. Akira never found the energy, the will, to cry. He was always just too tired.

Sleep rarely came.

Honestly, Akira wasn't sure when he’d first picked up a guitar. Perhaps it was on one of those days he'd wander and wander, no destination and no intentions of being _anywhere_. Perhaps he just stumbled on it, so consumed by being busy, busy, _busy_ , that he’d just not taken note of _when_.

But perhaps, it had been the first thing to chip away at that emptiness.

At first, it was yet another _busy_ ; he’d thrown himself headfirst into music theory and learning all he could to fill the empty space in his knowledge. He'd practice, practice, _practice_ , until his fingers bled and red ran down the fretboard. It wasn't until far later that he learned his guitar sounded much better when blood wasn't gumming up the strings.

Akira wasn't sure when his guitar went from _making noise_ to _playing music,_ either. In the beginning, he’d been too lost in filling the void with diligent busywork to really listen.

It made noise. He didn't hear.

Finally, _finally,_ something caught his attention. A chord, a series of chords that sounded _right_. He’d heard it, he _listened_.

After a sleepless night of playing those chords over and over and _over_ again, he’d found a progression, a strumming pattern, an inflection and tone that finally resonated with him. Akira had found a _song._

It was rough, sure. His hands fumbled on his fretboard, awkward and clumsy. The tempo was uneven, too slow, too fast, never just right. But he hummed along, thinking.

It took a few weeks, but Akira had put words to the tune, tied the notes with meaning and poured some of the emptiness out of _him_ and into the _song_. A nameless song full of broken lyrics and disjointed notes. Nothing special, nothing to be proud of. And yet, for the first time he could remember, Akira finally felt like he actually _existed_. It was the first thing he could point to as proof he was _here._ Even if he was only a song, it was still leagues better than nothing.

Time flew by as it became a balancing act of the ages between his schoolwork and music, but the scale was tipped heavily in favor of music. School slipped. His room progressively fell into mess, into clutter, into chaos, but he didn't care. Akira didn't need _busy_ anymore.

Torn pages from notebooks full of lyrics and messy sheet music lined nearly every surface of his room. Songs had become his busy, yet they were something more. They dulled the edge of emptiness, gave him something tangible to represent who he _was_.

Akira was fine with that.

* * *

Being shipped off to Tokyo, being suddenly removed from the tiny space he called his world, nearly ripped him apart.

He'd long since gotten used to the disappointment in his parents’ eyes. They’d long since tried to be anything more than decorations in their home, anything more than broken records of endless dissatisfaction. They didn't care. He didn't care.

It shouldn't have surprised him that he was one disappointment too far; that even those broken records could no longer stand to remain by him.

It still did.

* * *

The only solace he’d found, much to his new caretaker’s chagrin, was his music. Sakura had been none too pleased when Akira had lugged in the instruments his parents had conveniently forgot to ship with a small bow and an even smaller greeting. Akira didn't care; it was one more person he’d inevitably disappoint, anyways. May as well be ahead of the game on that front and get it out of the way from the get go.

* * *

Once the attic was scrubbed squeaky clean—more for the sake of keeping the dust from his guitars than any concern for his own health—he’d slumped down on the lumpy futon with his beat-to-hell Stratocaster and just _played_. Played and played until he heard familiar chords that melted into his nameless song, now cleaner and more refined with hours upon hours of practice.

And Akira sang.

The lyrics had gradually changed over time, but the end result was still the same. It was an outlet, something to shut his head up for a while. A place to put the _empty_ he’d been dragging along with him for so long.

* * *

He honestly thought Sakura had left for the night; the storefront bell had rung and fell silent for so long. It was eons past closing time. It was centuries past the point when Akira’s voice had begun to break from overuse.

Akira nearly choked on his heart when he saw Sakura standing at the top of the stairs, just _listening_. It took all of his willpower, all of his remaining composure, not to throw his guitar across the room in shock.

“Don't have to stop on my account, kid,” Sakura had said. His voice was calm, contented, and very much not disappointed. The hard stare, the distrust the caretaker had made oppressively known when he walked through the door, had faded from his face. Instead, an inscrutable expression took it's place.

Akira decided he preferred the hostility. It was familiar, easy to deal with. This was too hard to read, too hard to know or understand. Intentions were difficult to glean from foreign expressions.

“I didn't mean to bother you,” Akira finally murmured, voice hushed and empty, empty, empty. “Sorry."

The unreadable expression didn't leave Sakura’s face, but it shifted. To what, Akira couldn't place. “You weren't bothering me at all. Honestly, I originally stuck around to make sure you wouldn't tear the store apart.” A sigh, and Sakura took one step further into the attic; Akira shifted a little further back.

“I won’t.”

A heavy silence filled the air between them, a silence that scratched, clawed, tore at Akira until his breathing was uneven and hands shook where they clutched his guitar. He could taste his heartbeat as it threatened to run away from him, drawing into an unsettling and painful crescendo. Could hear the silence roar into emptiness around them.

Sakura noticed. Akira had learned quickly it was nearly impossible to truly hide anything from him.

“Let's go reheat some curry,” Sakura finally broke the silence, the empty. “I think I should try to talk to you before I peg you as the foolish, well-intentioned delinquent.”

Akira’s mind could barely process the hazy confusion that swept through him. “Why?” He found himself asking, hating the way his voice cracked, unsure he wanted to actually have an answer. Answers had the unfortunate tendency to disappoint.

Sakura had been a few steps down the stairs at that point; he turned, slightly. Akira could barely see his face, but recognized the flash of pity across the caretaker’s face. “I think enough people have written you off for a lifetime.”

It had taken a few minutes before Akira could move again, could disentangle himself from his guitar, could follow the growing scent of curry and coffee. Sluggish and slow, tired as he trudged down the stairs.

An empty plate and an empty cup sat waiting for him, along with Sakura buried in the kitchen and facing away.

Akira hovered awkwardly near the bottom of the stairs, uncertain and hesitant. He waited for the inevitable disappointment, inescapable words of malcontent and apathy he’d grown so accustomed to hearing.

They never came.

“Come on, kid.” Sakura, even with his back turned, seemed to hear the anxious note in the air. “Curry doesn't heat itself.”

Akira blinked once, then twice. Breath he hadn't been aware he was holding rushed out of his lungs in a huff. This man seemed determined to turn all of his expectations on a head.

“...right.”

**Author's Note:**

> why did I write this instead of the next chapter of sun you may ask? no clue. im tired. this whole thing is a mess and I know that
> 
> well actually I kinda wanted to explore a different. style? of writing I guess. mainly wanted to use repetition, repetition.
> 
> not that it particularly matters or impacts the story in any meaningful way, but akira is trans in both my fics. It's clearer (but never expressly said) in sun mostly bc I hate those scenes that call too much attention to it. here seemed like a good place to mention it, in a character study of him in the first place.
> 
> anyways. im out.


End file.
